Стивен Сейлор - The Throne of Caesar

Meto snorted. “Caesar is having you on, Spurinna.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it must amuse him to see you so puffed up and self-important. Do you think it’s your warning that’s made Caesar cancel his plans? No, you put your finger on it when you said he’s not himself today. He wasn’t entirely well last night, and he looks more unwell today. Now that’s something to worry about. Caesar unwell is Caesar not on his way to Parthia. After all our months of preparation—”

“What an uncouth little freedman you are!” said Spurinna. “How selfish, to put your own hopes for glory above the safety of the Dictator.”

“You sniveling Etruscan!” Meto raised a fist. Had I not restrained him, he would have struck Spurinna squarely in the face.

“Not in the house of the Pontifex Maximus!” I hissed. Meto stepped back. “Though I have half a mind to punch you in the nose myself, Spurinna!”

As I had restrained Meto, I in turn was restrained by Cinna, who suddenly appeared and grabbed my upraised fist. “All of you, be calm!” he said. “I’m not sure what this altercation is about, but no one is more upset than I that Caesar will not be addressing the Senate today. After all the hours we spent on that speech! Ah, well, it shall sound just as sweet another day, if Caesar is unable to do it justice today.”

“Caesar’s health is not the issue,” said Spurinna. “He has decided to stay home because of my warning.”

“Come now,” said Cinna, “we all know how little regard Caesar gives to omens and portents. If he took your warning seriously, Spurinna, he’d have hidden himself away for a whole month! Just now, before he left the room, he confided to me that he’s feeling quite dizzy. He can hardly address the Senate if the room is spinning. But what a disappointment for you, Gordianus, looking as splendid as you do in that toga. Don’t you agree, Senator Spurinna? But why are you not wearing your toga? Were you not planning to attend the meeting today?”

“Of course I was!” snapped Spurinna. “But I was appointed to take the haruspices first, outside the Senate chamber, to determine if the day is propitious. Only after that was I going to change into my toga.” He frowned. “Perhaps I’m still expected to take the haruspices, if Antony convenes the meeting without him. Oh dear, I suppose I should hurry after the consul.” He turned and began shoving his way through the crowd.

“I’m not sorry to see the back of him,” said Meto.

“Nor am I,” I said.

“Spurinna? But he’s such a charming fellow,” said Cinna with a straight face, then smiled to show he was joking. “But what a disappointment this is, for all of us. Ah, well. Caesar shall deliver that speech, and Gordianus shall become a senator, and I shall propose my brilliant bit of legislation permitting the Dictator his foreign marriages—all on some other day. I think Caesar is simply overtired, from having stayed up all night, working with me on the speech, and doing his best to calm Calpurnia.…”

He fell silent and turned his head, distracted by a booming voice from the far side of the room. Decimus had just arrived. If the departure of the imposing Antony had left a gap in the room, Decimus filled it. I couldn’t make out what he was saying as he queried one man after another, including Spurinna, who hurried past him, but I could see that he looked quite perturbed.

Seeing his dinner companions from the previous night, he strode toward us.

“What is this nonsense?” he said, looking at each of us in turn. “On my way here I crossed paths with Antony, who claims that Caesar isn’t coming. Just now I heard Spurinna spouting his usual nonsense about bad omens. I can’t believe Caesar is staying home, on this of all days. What is this about, Meto?”

“Caesar has said nothing to me. But you saw for yourself how he was last night.”

“He was in high spirits.”

“He was a little too high-spirited. I’ve seen this before. After such a night, the next day he suffers one of his spells.”

Decimus frowned. “A seizure, you mean? I thought he hadn’t suffered those for a long time.”

“But he’s dizzy. So he told me,” said Cinna.

“A bit of light-headedness should hardly prevent him from attending a meeting of this importance.”

“Perhaps…” I began, but bit my tongue. It occurred to me that Caesar, judging his own symptoms, was perhaps afraid of suffering a seizure in front of the Senate. What would men think if they saw the Dictator in such a helpless state, tumbling out of his golden chair to writhe on the floor?

“No, this won’t do!” Decimus scowled and shook his head. While the rest of us were disappointed or puzzled or concerned for Caesar, Decimus seemed almost angry. Some powerful emotion flashed from his eyes, but I couldn’t make it out. He had been among Gauls too long, I thought. His expressions had become inscrutable to a fellow Roman.

“I’ll talk to Caesar myself!” Decimus declared. He strode toward the private quarters and disappeared from sight.

Despite Caesar’s change of plans, no one in the vestibule seemed ready to leave. Men milled about, rearranging the folds of their togas and talking quietly. It was as if we all awaited a further announcement.

Time passed slowly.

It was perhaps half an hour later that Decimus reappeared, followed by Caesar, who cast a stern gaze around the suddenly silent room, as if to forestall any questions. Decimus, whom I might have expected to look pleased with himself, having evidently convinced Caesar to reverse his decision, instead wore an expression as grim as Caesar’s.

Caesar’s harsh gaze abruptly softened. He smiled very faintly, as if to admit that he felt every so slightly chagrined. Meto laughed with relief, and others around the room did likewise.

“Hail, Caesar!” shouted Cinna, clapping his hands.

“Hail, Caesar!” Meto shouted. Others joined in the salutation.

I, too, at that moment, in that place, raised my voice in acclamation of Rome’s dictator. “Hail, Caesar!” I shouted, feeling slightly foolish, but also genuinely excited and sincerely grateful to the man who in a single stroke was about to elevate my fortunes and the fortunes of my family forever.

Caesar looked in my direction. His eyes met mine. I said it again: “Hail, Caesar!”

“Enough of this!” he said. “Decimus, send a swift-footed messenger to countermand the order I gave to Antony. I shall attend the Senate, after all. Citizens, colleagues, friends—let us be off!”

With Caesar leading the way, we filed out of the vestibule and into the street. As Decimus passed by me, I heard him mutter, “After today, may I never have to deal with that woman again!” Even with Calpurnia begging Caesar to stay, and Caesar in a muddle, Decimus had persuaded him to go.

I hung back, deferring to the more senior members of Caesar’s e ntourage, so that I was the very last man to step through the doorway. As I did so, I turned back and saw Calpurnia across the room, standing in the hallway. Her body was mostly hidden by shadows, but her face caught the late morning light. It was stark white, cold and remote, the color of a full moon.

Though she spoke barely above a whisper, I heard her clearly across the empty room. “Stay close to him, Finder. Are you armed?”

“Of course not. No senator is allowed to carry arms into the Senate House. Even I know that.”

She hung her head and stepped back, vanishing amid shadows.

XXXII

The Roman Senate meets in various venues. All are technically temples; the Senate can render official decisions only in a space consecrated to the gods. On this day they were convening a considerable distance from the Regia, in the area of the city still called the Field of Mars, despite the fact that little in the way of open space is to be found amid the jumble of tenements and temples that have sprung up in my lifetime.